CLXII

AND wilt thou leave me thus?
Say nay! say nay! for shame,
To save thee from the blame
Of all my grief and grame.
And wilt thou leave me thus?
Say nay! say nay!

And wilt thou leave me thus,
That have loved thee so long
In wealth and woe among:
And is thy heart so strong
As for to leave me thus ?
Say nay! say nay!

And wilt thou leave me thus,

That have given thee my heart
Never for to depart

Neither for pain nor smart :

And wilt thou leave me thus?

Say nay! say nay!

And wilt thou leave me thus,

And have no more pity

Of him that loveth thee?

Alas! thy cruelty!

And wilt thou leave me thus?

Say nay! say nay!

SIR THOMAS WYATT.

CLXIII

THE ADIEU

(SONG FROM Rokeby)

"A WEARY lot is thine, fair maid,
A weary lot is thine!

To pull the thorn thy brow to braid,
And press the rue for wine!
A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien,
A feather of the blue,

A doublet of the Lincoln green,—

No more of me you knew,

My love!

No more of me you knew.

"This morn is merry June, I trow,
The rose is budding fain ;

But she shall bloom in winter snow
Ere we two meet again."

He turned his charger as he spake,
Upon the river shore,

gave his bridle reins a shake,

"Adieu for evermore,

He

Said,

He that loves a rosy cheek,

Or a coral lip admires,
Or from starlike eyes doth seek
Fuel to maintain his fires;

As old Time makes these decay,
So his flames must waste away.

But a smooth and steadfast mind,
Gentle thoughts and calm desires,
Hearts with equal love combined,
Kindle never-dying fires.
Where these are not, I despise
Lovely cheeks or lips or eyes.

No tears, Celia, now shall win
My resolv'd heart to return;
I have search'd thy soul within,

And find nought but pride and scorn.
I have learn'd thy arts, and now
Can disdain as much as thou.

Some Power, in my revenge, convey

That love to her I cast away.

CLXV

THOMAS CAREW.

LINES

WHEN the lamp is shattered,
The light in the dust lies dead-
When the cloud is scattered,

The rainbow's glory is shed.
When the lute is broken,

Sweet tones are remembered not ;
When the lips have spoken,
Loved accents are soon forgot.

As music and splendour
Survive not the lamp and the lute,
The heart's echoes render

No song when the spirit is mute :—

No song but sad dirges,

Like the wind through a ruined cell,
Or the mournful surges

That ring the dead seaman's knell.

When hearts have once mingled
Love first leaves the well-built nest;
The weak one is singled

To endure what it once possest.
O, Love! who bewailest
The frailty of all things here,

Why choose you the frailest

For your cradle, your home, and your bier?

Its passions will rock thee

As the storms rock the ravens on high:
Bright reason will mock thee,
Like the sun from a wintry sky.

From thy nest every rafter
Will rot, and thine eagle home

Leave thee naked to laughter,

When leaves fall and cold winds come.

PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY.

CLXVI

A LOST OPPORTUNITY

WE might, if you had willed, have conquered heaven.
Only once in our lives before the gate

Of Paradise we stood, one fortunate even,
And gazed in sudden rapture through the grate.
And, while you stood astonished, I, our fate
Venturing, pushed the latch and found it free.
There stood the tree of knowledge fair and great
Beside the tree of life. One instant we